


Things Jon Thought He Would Never Do

by mountainsbeyondmountains



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jon's a dork, One Night Stands, professional athlete Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountainsbeyondmountains/pseuds/mountainsbeyondmountains
Summary: "You're too short to be Jon Snow."





	Things Jon Thought He Would Never Do

**Author's Note:**

> based on interviews where Kit says people say he's too short to be Jon Snow.

The reporters often asked Jon what his favorite part of being a professional footballer was, and he always said simply, "Playing football."

He hated the interviews; his nerves always caused him to unintentionally live up to the reputation of footballers who'd had all their brains jostled out by too many concussions. He hated the magazine covers that claimed to reveal "the real Jon Snow", when the articles inside seemed to feature a stranger, though he didn't hate that phenomenon as much as he loathed the paparazzi who managed to turn an innocent jaunt over to "Hunky heartthrob keeps a low profile in a navy blue henley and sunglasses".

Jon knew going to the post-win party at the bar the evening after the big game would only be feeding into the culture he reviled, but surprisingly, it was Theon who convinced him. "The team is your family, and the team wants you there. Don't let family down." And maybe it's just Jon's weird neuroses that started when his dad left when he was a kid (always blame everything on the missing father figure), but he found himself doing something he swore he never would: agreeing with Greyjoy.

He should have known it wouldn't end well. As soon as he mumbled  _okay_ , Theon gave his troublesome cocksure grin and said, "Besides, I guarantee the chicks there will be wearing leather pants."

Jon had already changed out of his contacts for the night, and now as he's roughed up by the crowd, he was looking at his wristwatch and wondering when it wouldn't be too rude to leave, and hoping nothing happens to his glasses until then. Last time he saw Theon, a girl was snorting something off his teammate's bare chest. And so much for brothers: the dark made everyone anonymous, turning friends into foes and strangers into soulmates. It was too much. Eventually Jon edged his way to the edge of the dark room, and followed the beacon of a glowing scarlet EXIT sign. When he pushed the door open, the music was too loud to be able to tell if an alarm made a screech. 

The night air had an immediate welcome sobering effect: a slap in the face or a dunk in ice water. It was under this influence, this feeling like Jon just had a painful yet necessary epiphany, that he saw the redhead. The glare of the streetlamps and the moon's suggestions didn't offer much clarity but he noticed she was beautiful. Even the most starless of nights couldn't conceal a girl like her. It made Jon question why she was hiding in the alley. 

"A little much in there, huh?" the redhead said to him. Funny how her words were an echo of his previous sentiments. Jon nodded. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Name's Jon."

"Just Jon?"

Well, it had been nice while it had lasted. "Jon Snow." And perhaps it spoke to his vanity that Jon anticipated a change in her when he revealed who he was. Who he was "supposed" to be. Usually girls- Jon didn't want to say _swooned,_ but they had a reaction. They grew more interested, for lack of a better term, than they might have been otherwise. Than they almost certainly would have been otherwise. But this girl didn't follow the lead of her many predecessors. She laughed. Jon hadn't expected her to laugh. He felt almost wounded, which became positively wounded when she dismissed, "No way you're Jon Snow."

He scowled at her. "Want to see some ID? I'm not lying."

"Jon Snow doesn't wear glasses. And you're too short."

"How tall did you think I was going to be?"

"I don't know. At least six foot? And I never had anything thoughts on how tall  _you_ are. Because you're not him. He's not you. It's a cute line- you do sort of look like him, in bad lighting like this- but really, who are you?"

"Who are  _you_?" Jon challenged in response. He'd worked hard to become himself, but defending his identity had grown tiresome, and this girl was determined to not be convinced. "You look familiar yourself."

"Oh, another line. You're just full of those, aren't you?" But once again he wasn't lying. Something in the red hair, her jawline, bothered at his memory like a loose thread, and under alternate circumstances the connection would be right on the tip of Jon's tongue. Things being as they were currently, the words were lodged in his throat somewhere beside the place his heart had also taken residence. 

If he wasn't Jon Snow in this girl's company tonight, then there was no reason for him to still carry Jon Snow's inhibitions. "Are the lines working?"

***

These sheets weren't his. That was Jon's first thought. He had never, to his knowledge, bought sheets with a pattern of periwinkle flowers on them. And the lack of pillows on the bed was also peculiar. When he sat up, he saw they were on the floor. Some were clear across the room, as if they'd been flung. Weird, then weirder still. Then Jon turned, and saw her, and everything made sense. As the fragments pieced together to form a cohesive memory of yesterday's events, Jon couldn't help feeling deserving of a pat on the back. She was even prettier in daylight. 

She must have felt the heat of his staring, even though the reverie of her slumber, because she rolled closer to him, and blinked awake. "Hey there."

"Hey yourself."

"So that really happened."

"Yeah. Wasn't just a dream."

"I wasn't sure." She frowned, and Jon wondered what he'd done wrong. He knew it was only a matter of time before he screwed this up, but he hadn't thought the moment of truth would come so quickly. It was a shame. He'd been enjoying himself. But then her next words were somewhat of a surprise, though at that point, revelations and bewilderment in equal due shouldn't have been bewildering revelations to him, because she consistently surpassed his hopes. "You're not wearing your glasses."

"I'm not. Do you- do you remember where I put them?" Everything  _was_ slightly blurred, now that she'd mentioned it. It wasn't so bad. 

"You're Jon Snow." 

"Yep." Jon didn't know why she sounded so stupefied until he recalled their conversation the night before. He guessed it was her turn to be a little amazed (he didn't have enough faith in his own bedroom prowess to hope that she'd already been a little amazed by him). "I told you so."

"I didn't believe you! Sorry, by the way. For not believing you. And here you go." She reached over to the bedside table and handed him his glasses. He kissed her hand before putting the lenses on. She leaned in to continue the kiss, but when he focused on her, he jolted back. 

"Holy shit."

"What?" She wrapped herself up in the periwinkle floral sheet, suddenly self-conscious. And suddenly Jon was somewhat glad he wasn't seeing her naked, which, thirty seconds ago, he would have never thought possible. 

"I remember where I know you from."

"Wait, that  _wasn't_ just a line?"

"No. Oh no. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no wonder you look familiar, you're Robb's sister!" 

 

 


End file.
